Father of the Groom
by Eowyn Rain
Summary: The Sheriff flashes back to when he first learned about Werewolves. It just so happends to be his Son's Wedding Day. Sheriff's POV, established!Sterek


**Title:** Father of the Groom

**Rating:** PG

**Characters:** Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Allison Argent, Chris Argent, Erica Reyes, Mama Stilinski, Melissa McCall, Isaac Lahey, Pack, Alpha Pack

**Pairings:** Stiles/Derek, Scott/Allison, Sheriff Stilinski/Mama Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski/Melissa McCall (if you squint)

**Waringing:** Mentions of Alpha Pack

**Summary:** The Sheriff flashes back to when he first learned about Werewolves. It just so happends to be his Son's Wedding Day. Sheriff's POV, established!Sterek

**Notes:** Written for the Teen Wolf_ Heat Wave_ Fest on Livejournal!

Prompt: After finding out about the whole werewolf thing, the sheriff takes Derek under his wing  
Maximum rating: NC-17  
Squicks/dislikes: daddy!kink, kid!fic, mpreg  
Anything else/Special Requests: Future son-in-law?

A HUGE thank you for my brilliant Beta Jonjo, who actually turned out to be the prompter! =D

Cross posted on Ao3

* * *

A very proud Sheriff Stilinski fixed his tie and straightened his newly pressed suit in the hallway mirror. There were many things that made him proud: The people of Beacon Hills electing him to the position of Sherriff once again; the deputy he had personally trained being praised by the newspaper for being exemplary and a "Hero"; watching Stiles raise his fist in the air with his Diploma; finally learning how to make flan for Melissa and walking out of the Doctor's office with a note for Stiles saying his cholesterol had dropped, just to name a few.

Yes, the Sheriff had many reasons to be proud. However, none of those were the reason he was happily humming to himself. No, John was happy because today he got a new title. Instead of just being "Sheriff" or "Mr. Stilinski" or even "Dad", John got to be something so wonderful, so amazing, that it actually made his heart hurt.

John smiled to himself in the mirror.

"I'm Father of the Groom. Wow, I am old."

Finishing with his tie and pinning his flower to his lapel, he took a moment to send a silent prayer up to his wife. Even though the day was bittersweet because she couldn't be there to see their little boy all grown up and getting married, he knew she was there in spirit, and just as proud as he was.

He had just finished having a moment with one of the two grooms in the Fellowship Hall; he'd been going over his check list with John while Erica messed with his spikey hair. Said groom was really set on making sure that as many werewolf mating traditions made it into the human-looking ceremony.

Some things had been augmented, like the presentation of "gifts" to the Court_ed_ (translation: big game, like a stag, a boar, or in some cases bear or moose), being totally naked under the full moon during the ceremony and the celebratory hunt the betas and the Court_ee_ go on the night before the "Mating Ritual", (when the big game is caught).

Instead, the wedding would be held outside at night on the back lawn of the church under the moon, completely clothed but barefoot, the hunt was held after one of the bachelor parties, when all of the human party goers were drunk and passed out, and the "gift", aka a cow, would only be accepted if it was cleaned first and hidden away from non-pack eyes. (Most of the wolves grumbled over how unsporting it was to go hunt a cow, thinking it would be too easy. To their surprise, Californian cows were mean bitches that were strangely hard to catch. It was even worse them having to try to outrun a farmer and his pitchfork while carrying a dead cow. That had made for a very strange incident report. Stiles was happy though, because it meant burger meat and steaks for at least a year.)

Traditions, both werewolf and human, became a near obsession to the groom in question. John thought it showed just how much he loved his partner that he wanted to get both types of ceremony right for the other, but he knew that his partner couldn't care less, as long as he had him by his side.

He was brought out of his thoughts when out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow trying to creep past him.

He shot an arm out and caught the sneaker.

"Oh no you don't!"

The other groom, the one **not** inside the makeshift dressing room with Erica, stood sheepishly in front of him.

"Oh, hi Dad."

"Yeah, nice try son, I know what you're up to, and you need to just turn right back around and go back to your room."

"But, I just want to see him for a second…"

John turned the young groom around by the shoulders and marched him back down the hall.

"No buts, Mister. "

After he had them safely back and seated in the dressing room, the Sheriff raised his eyebrows at Scott.

"Mind explaining to me why you let him leave to see his groom ahead of time?"

Scott crossed his arms, shooting accusing looks at the other man in the room.

"He TOLD me that he just wanted to get a glass of water, that the room was too hot and he needed to cool down!"

The Sheriff shook his head at him, but smiled good-naturedly.

"You should know better with this one. Keeping him away from his other half is like trying to nail jello to the wall. If it wasn't for Mister "We Must Uphold Traditions", we would be dealing with _two_ grooms sneaking off together before the ceremony."

"You mean like Scott and Allison at their wedding?" the naughty groom replied, raising an eyebrow.

Instead of Scott trying to defend himself and his wife, he stared off dreamily.

"Yeah, that was the BEST time I have ever had in a barn!"

The Sheriff gave Stiles' best friend/best man a deadpanned glower.

"You went missing for two hours, and nearly missed your wedding."

Scott gave them a petulant look. "We made it on time!"

"Yeah, and Allison had a piece of straw in her hair."

Sighing to himself, the Sheriff could see the look on the groom's face, looking longingly at the door, even while bickering back and forth with Scott.

"Scott, why don't you go check on Groom #1, while Groom #2 and I have a little talk."

At that moment, as Scott agreed and walked out the door, John looked over at the young man on the couch. Even though the groom was sat with a straight back, he was giving the Sheriff a guilty look that made him flash back to the first time he'd seen it, when everything had changed, and he had literally walked into the supernatural.

* * *

Werewolves. Freaking Werewolves!

When Sheriff Stilinski followed Derek Hale that fateful day, he was expecting to talk to him about the growing worrisome situation with his son.

Being a small town sheriff, you hear all of the gossip. When Stiles became the fodder of a lot of that gossip, most often linked with one leather wearing twenty-something he had once arrested as a murder suspect, he knew it was something he needed to investigate.

It turned out that the two were seen everywhere together.

_Outside the High School_

_The Diner on 5__th__ Avenue_

_Walking down Main Street_

_ The Gas Station_

_The Grocery and Hardware Stores_

_Lurking around abandoned buildings and warehouses_

_ The Library_

_Around the Preserve _

_The Video Store_

_The Movie Theatre_

_Oh Lord, even Beacon Hills only Gay Bar, which he had caught his son at once already. _

Also, according to his nosy neighbor Gladys, young Mr. Hale had been climbing in and out of his son's second floor window, at odd hours of the night, for** months**.

That night he planned to get some answers. Knowing that he wasn't going to get those answers from Stiles, his plan was to confront Derek, his son's possible boyfriend.

John felt like reaching for his stash of whiskey every time he thought of that word.

It looked like his thoughts on the situation were confirmed when Stiles breezed though, grabbed a packet of pop tarts and an apple, calling over his shoulder that he was working on a school research project with Lydia, and that he would be home late. When he noticed that his son's cheeks didn't flush, that he had a mustard stain on his flannel shirt, and didn't have the dopey "Lydia Martin look" on his face, even when she was standing right there in front of him, he knew it. He knew his son was over her.

He knew for a fact that his son was mooning over_ somebody _though, because he still had nights when he tried to look his best and made sure to shower and put on a clean shirt.

He waited until his son had gone and was out of sight before he tailed Derek, following the carefully planned route he had made of Derek's daily schedule. His son would have called him a stalker. But he liked to refer to himself doing "off-duty surveillance of a possible perp".

That made him wince. There was no question where Stiles got _that_ part of his personality.

What he hadn't expected, however, when he'd planned on having a little "chat" with Derek Hale, was to see the odd scene of…Derek , and Chris and Allison Argent, dressed in all black combat clothes, carrying a military issue gun and a damn crossbow.

All four stood stock still, staring at each other.

John, much like his son, was the first to break the radio silence.

"What the hell is going on here?"

A confused John watched Chris first share a look with his daughter, then with Derek.

Chris Argent turned towards him with a friendly grin.

"Nothing to worry about Sheriff. I was just showing Mr. Hale here some of the merchandise we offer for hunting and fishing. We were just discussing Derek's upcoming trip to Lake Tahoe."

Using some of the skills he learned over his many years in law enforcement, the sheriff noticed the tick in Derek's jaw at that statement, as well as the carefully controlled way he squeezed his fingers tighter into his fist by his leg.

Derek glanced towards Argent and his daughter before turning towards the Sheriff, giving him a tight, yet pleasant smile.

"I was just informing Mr. Argent that he must have been mistaken, because I was not planning to leave town any time soon, but that I do appreciate his help in getting all the equipment I would need for a camping trip, together so quickly. They really are the best in their business, Sheriff."

John Stilinski was not an idiot. Taking in the scene, he had large amount of concern at the picture he was getting.

After years of dealing with small town domestic disputes, robberies, disorderly fights and DUI's, he had learned a thing or two about human nature and crime scenes.

Had it been one of his deputies who had come across this scene, the sheriff would have expected to get a report of suspected drug dealing, possible sexual assault or even a potential kidnapping attempt.

In all the scenarios, Derek Hale would have been the one cast as the "Bad Guy" in the story, while Chris would have been the doting, protective father of an innocent girl.

However, the sheriff had learned to look for more subtle clues and the scene in front of him told another story. In this version, young Mr. Hale looked like he might be in need of some assistance. He was pretty sure, however kind-hearted and light it had been, that Chris Argent had issued a veiled threat to the boy, and that didn't sit well with John Stilinski.

Subtly shifting his weight, a tactic he used to make him appear to relax, yet to actually make it easier to reach his gun holster, Sheriff Stilinski leveled all three with a withering glare.

"Uh huh. So, you normally conduct your weapons dealing business at night, in abandoned warehouses, dressed like that? I dunno Chris, that sounds a little seedy to me."

Allison had the decency to look sheepish, dressed like Assassin Barbie with her crossbow.

Suddenly the mask Chris Argent was wearing melted off his face, only to be replaced with a stony look of grim determination.

"You're right, John. I think it's about time you were told certain things, you've been kept in the dark too long."

He thought it was strange, that in that moment Derek and Allison had identical looks that were a mixture of fear and pleading.

Fear of what?

Pleading Chris for what?

Not to tell him?

The sheriff was even more resolved to find out what was going on but he worried that his preconceived ideas about Derek Hale may be wrong. He was even questioning just how dark a soul the other, older man had. He also felt some guilt at how quick to judge he'd been about a young man his own son didn't seem to fear or think of with ill will. His wife had always been a good judge of character, and Stiles had inherited that from her. In this new light, florescent and flickering in an abandoned building as it was, he wondered when he had forgotten that fact. Had he placed it in the box in his head along with how much Stiles had her smile? How they both hummed the same rhythmless tune when folding laundry?

Come to think of it, his son had never seemed too fond of Chris Argent…

He took another look at the young man his son seemed to, at the very least, consider a friend. More and more he got the feeling that he needed to move to his side, or maybe in front of him, for protection.

Both Allison and Derek called out to Chris.

"Dad, you can't!"

"That's not up to you Argent!"

The older man crossed his arms and glared balefully at Derek Hale.

"So it's up to his teenage son? No, I think I need another person on Team Adult here."

"Oh yes," said a menacing voice from the shadows, "I think the human sheriff should be educated about our kind. We'll help."

A menacing, dark haired lady came out from the other side of the warehouse unannounced. At first glance, even in shadow, the woman looked pretty. That was shot to hell when the Sheriff noticed the hideous, scarily pointed nails on her bare feet. He had wondered at first if she was one of those organic hippie farmers he saw at the Farmers Market, until he saw the black razorblades she had for toenails. Something just didn't seem right, or hygienic about it.

A male, who looked to be his son's age popped up next to her.

"My oh my, Alpha Hale, the Argents and the Beacon Hills' Sheriff in one room? Wow, what luck!"

Another voice came from the opposite corner and the Sheriff had to do a double take to realize it was the guy's twin who had spoken.

The little laugh he gave, while cracking his knuckles, made chills run up John's spine.

Following his instincts, the Sheriff drew his gun and walked slowly towards Hale and the Argents. When he got close enough to bump shoulders with the young man to his left, he made sure to shift his body so that he was partially covering the boy, offering as much protection as he could. He noticed Argent doing the same for his daughter. He put the information that Argent was obviously combat trained into his brain bank for later, after he'd dealt with whatever was about to go down in the warehouse.

"Tell me Sheriff," asked the strange woman, "what are your thoughts on becoming a Werewolf?"

That made his thoughts go blank.

"Excuse me?"

"Get behind me." Derek said, shooting his hand out and pushing John behind his back. Before he could get a chance to insist on Derek letting him protect him, all Hell broke loose.

Among the haze and blur of the night, there was one thing the Sheriff took from the evening. Well besides the fact that Werewolves were obviously _real._

Derek Hale, while fighting his fellow scary creatures, tried to protect John at every turn.

Bullets didn't really seem to affect these punks. Sure they slowed them down, but he was horrified to learn that they simply popped back out of their bodies a couple of minutes later. It really helped, though, that Derek had claws and fangs like the other guys.

Everything came to a halt when Chris Argent threw a freaking **grenade** into the middle of the room.

Instead of a large explosion with shrapnel and fire, there was only a loud noise and… purple smoke!

John covered his mouth with his jacket sleeve, but noticed that the Argents didn't seem to be bothered by the heavily perfumed fumes.

The Werewolves, however, were dropping like flies. One by one they all fell to the floor, gasping for air and clawing at their throats.

Including Derek.

John grabbed the still shifted young man by the arm, hoisting him up and supporting him, not even caring that Mr. Hale had dangerous bloody claws and had somehow lost his eyebrows.

"Hang in there son, I'm going to get you out!"

Chris Argent looked up from one of the twins prone bodies, black boot placed on his sternum.

"You go. Take him to Dr. Deaton. We'll take care of this."

"The vet?"

Argent nodded, looking up from his mobile phone.

"Yes, and you need to get him out of here quick. These wolfsbane fumes are toxic to werewolves and he will asphyxiate without the antidote."  
While everything in him told him that he needed to stay, get things in order, and take these people into custody for questioning and medical treatment, he also felt his heart tug at him when the young man in his arms started to double over making choppy, small wheezes. This boy was going to die if he didn't get him help, and apparently werewolves couldn't go to the Hospital. They had to go to the freaking vet.

The vet Scott McCall worked for.

He looked over to Chris again as more men piled into the warehouse, dragging off the wolves that had just tried to kill them. As the men shared a look, the Sheriff knew he was not being dismissed. No, Mr. Argent saw him as an equal, with respect. As much as his insides were turning at that thought, he knew that if he wanted to save this boy's life he had to leave the scene in his hands.

He also knew that if he wanted the complete, undoctored truth, it would have to come from this man too.

"You bet your ass we will be talking later Chris."

By the time John got Derek to the police cruiser, he was practically carrying the young man, manhandling him into the passenger seat like he did his own son when he was little and sleepy.

Derek Hale might have had muscle mass on him, but Stilinski men had always been deceptively strong.

* * *

John cursed as he stood in front of the vet clinic.

According to the note on the door, Dr. Deaton was out of town, and would be for the entire week. Of course the vet had probably let his clients know ahead of time to go to the animal clinic in the next town over.

For the first time, he felt bad for not letting Stiles have a puppy.

Getting back in the cruiser, the Sheriff looked over at his ill passenger.

Things were getting worse for Derek. His breaths were increasingly getting spaced out and shallow, and he was no longer lucid. He was slumped over in the passenger seat, eyes open and glassy. The worst part; however for John, was that Derek was hallucinating.

John blamed himself. He was the one that had touched the dark haired werewolf's arm and tilted his face towards him, asking him if he was ok, and reflexively called him 'Son'. He should have realized it would confuse Derek's addled mind.

"Dad? Is that you?"

Derek kept calling him Dad.

He looked over at the young man, barely not a boy, and thought about how he didn't have a_ dad_ or_ family _anymore for that matter, to watch over him and take care of him.

The Sheriff didn't have the heart to correct him.

Thinking of those lost souls, most likely werewolves like the young man next to him, he thought about how if the roles were reversed, he would only hope and pray Derek's father would have tried his very best to treat Stiles like his own, especially when he was in trouble and didn't have loved ones to help him.

"Da..d…so…s-orr…y…let…her…m-f'ult…"

"Derek, son, it's ok. It's going to be ok. I need you to help me out here please. What do you need? Who takes care of you when Dr. Deaton isn't around?"

Derek blinked sluggishly at John, obviously trying to comply.  
"S...tiles. Nee…iles…"

John sat back in his seat.

Did Derek just insinuate that his only help to save his ass was going to have to come from his hyperactive teenage son?

"Oh crap."

* * *

After John had dropped Derek as carefully as he could onto the couch, he immediately hit the speed dial.

"Hey Dad! Wha-"

"None of that. You and me son are going to have a long, arduous talk later, but for right now, I need your help. I have one very sick guy in our living room who is having trouble breathing because of some smoke bombs Chris Argent set off in a warehouse full of werewolves. I need you to get home. Now."

He could hear the fumbling on the other end of the phone.

"Dad , ok, I'm on my way! Who-"

"…iles?" Derek softly breathed out in a choppy exhale.

All sound ceased on the other side of the phone, followed by a noise of what sounded like papers falling to the floor.

"Oh my god, was that Derek?!" Stiles wheezed out, tone sounding in complete panic and near painful.

He heard Lydia demand the keys from his son, telling him that he should not be driving in his condition.

If it had been hours earlier, he would have smacked his face and groaned at his son's overly obvious reactions towards the werewolf on his couch. Seeing a helpless Derek Hale lying in a vulnerable slump, however, after saving his life and knowing what his son felt towards him, somehow made most of his misgivings float away.

In record time, (the kind of time he knew would have gotten one Miss Martin a speeding ticket), Stiles crashed through the front door, directing Lydia, Scott, and the Lahey kid to get him supplies.

"Scott! Get the First Aid Kit from the Halloween decorations in the basement! Lydia, go into the pantry and get the box labeled 'Wheat Germ', that's where the antidote is. Isaac…I'm going to need a bucket."

In a flurry of moment, he saw his only son, the ungainly kid with ADHD that has problems making toast, turn into a freaking paramedic.

"Ok Big Guy, it's going to be ok. I'm going to get you all better, you just have to lie there and breathe for me, alright?"

Stiles ran his thumb over one of wolf's sharp cheekbones, giving him a look the sheriff was all too familiar with.

It was the same look in Stiles eyes his mother used to give to John.

This was more than some stupid high school/bad boy crush.

Stiles loved Derek Hale, and judging by the way Derek fought to lift his hand to touch his son's hand to keep his eyes open, John knew that Derek felt it right back.

Of course the tender moment was ruined when his son stuck a needle into Hale's chest, and said werewolf vomited black sludge into the trash bin Isaac had brought only moments before.

* * *

The first time John saw the guilty face he would later see on Stiles' wedding day, was when he got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water…and secretly to check on the recovering werewolf on his couch.

A werewolf that _should _have been recovering on his couch, that is.

The pillow and blue and white quilt Stiles had given Derek were still there, yet young Mr. Hale was missing. Going on a hunch, the Sheriff crept up the stairs…

…and found Derek wrapped around his son in Stiles' bedroom.

While Stiles was fast asleep, happily cuddled into the arms of the older man with a slight smile on his sleep soft face, Derek was wide awake.

The two men shared a look as the youngest Stilinski slept on. Even though Derek had this look of fear and guilt as he looked into the eyes of the father of the under aged boy in his arms, his arms pulled the Sheriff's son tighter, chin tucked over his shoulder.

"You seem cozy there Derek." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"It's not what it looks like Sheriff."

"You know Derek," John said as he walked over and sat at his son's desk, "my neighbor, Gladys Dukakis, the nosy little old lady with a thousand cats, has mentioned how often my son's _'leather wearing James Dean wannabe'_ boyfriend goes through his bedroom window. Are you going to tell me you are not his boyfriend, or that you are normally not in bed with him like a teddy wolf-bear?"

Derek was quiet for a minute.

"We've been taking things slowly."

John believed him, even though he was wrapped around his son like a protective shell. Nodding, John motioned him to continue.

"Stiles turns eighteen in a few weeks. We were waiting until then to tell you, at least about us."

"What about the other stuff? When were you guys planning on letting me know all of the crazy crap you've been up to?"

"Stiles and I have been arguing with the rest of the pack about whether we should tell you, to be honest Sheriff."

"Oh?"

Derek shifted nervously on the bed, making Stiles grumble in his sleep.

"Wha's -at?"

Derek rubbed his hand gently up and down Stiles arm.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

Stiles happily sighed, turned over and nuzzled Derek's shoulder.

"Mmm…Sr'wolf. Kick yo ass is you scur m'like tha-gain. L'a yoo."

Stiles unknowingly confirmed his feeling in front of his father.

Derek gulped down a deep breath, almost as if he was trying to be brave before forging into a battle.

"Stiles is afraid of you getting hurt, that knowing about the supernatural will put you in danger. His main goal is always to protect you, Sheriff."

"And what of you, Mr. Hale? What are your thoughts on me knowing?"

"I…always sided with Stiles, to an extent."

John felt his spine stiffen.

"It's dangerous, this life we lead. Scott, Lydia and Isaac kept saying that it would be better for you not to be in the dark, and that you could help us."

"Go on."

"But once you know, there is no going back. I know this, and so does Stiles. I was waiting for Stiles to be ready to tell you, sometime after his birthday, because…"

John understood before he even had to say it.

"-because you were afraid I wouldn't approve, and I would take him away from you."

Derek gulped again, but met his eyes directly.

"Yes. I know it's selfish, but I love him. I promise that I've been very careful and respectful, and that we have not done anything that would cause you to arrest me."

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow.

"With your son."

Taking all of that information in, John got up from the chair, and turned toward Derek in the doorway. Reaching into his pocket, he tossed a brass colored key at Derek. Catching it, Derek's nervous-guilty face shifted into confusion.

"This is me, approving, as long as you promise to move in here. Tomorrow, if you are up to it, you are going to help me clean out the Guest Room, while I send Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Wolf to go get your stuff from the Bus Storage Warehouse. You also have to get a job, because Stiles can eat his weight in curly fries and Reeses Cups, while he spends his money on buying me soy milk and celery sticks. No more having enough free time to hang out at the high school either. That is just creepy, even for a werewolf, son."

Derek stared dumbfounded at Stiles' Dad.

"You're ok with this? Really? You want me to live with you?"

"I also want you to consider maybe applying for the Academy. We could really use a deputy like you in the Sheriff's Department."

Derek continued to stare slack-jawed at the key in his hand, and to the Sheriff in the doorway.

"I'll even train you myself. Well, except for maybe at the gun range. I'll leave that up to Stiles."

"Stiles knows how to shoot?!"

"Yeah, and he learned from the best too, so you might learn something."

Derek tilted his head, thick eyebrows furrowed.

"If he learned from you, sir, why wouldn't you teach me?"

John gave Derek a sad smile.

"I said the best, not me. My wife was a sharp shooter, and taught him everything she knew. Friendly tip, never play darts with Stiles. He will always win."

* * *

So that's how Derek Hale, Alpha of the Hale Pack of Beacon Hills, moved into the Stilinski home.

John and Chris Argent managed to become friends over time, even when Chris had his reservations about John letting the werewolf into his home, and date his teenage son. The Sheriff had come to learn over that time that Chris, while he threatened kids and took the law into his own hands sometimes, was not as crazy as some of his family members.

Derek became one of the best Deputies in the history of Beacon Hills, if the proud Sheriff said so himself. Stiles liked to save the newspaper clippings every time Derek made the news. Lydia and Jackson threw him a party after he got an award from the Mayor.

Stiles graduated with honors from high school, as well as the rest of the pack, including Scott, surprisingly.

Even though Stiles got a slew of scholarship offers to many different Universities across the country, Stiles wanted to stay as close to home as possible. He went to Berkley to study Criminology, minoring in Mythology. To most people these were odd things to get a degree in. Stiles would just shrug and say that he was doing what he knew best.

The Sheriff had been there the day Stiles had proposed to his favorite deputy. Stiles had dropped down on one knee in the middle of the Sheriff's Station, regally asking for the "Dark Knight's" hand. He then seriously told him how much he loved him, and wanted nothing more than to be a matching Mr. Hale, and raise a bunch of furry Hale babies with him.

Derek didn't answer in words, just fell to his knees and kissed his son and demanding he give the ring over right then.

John's favorite moment of that day was while Stiles was distracted by the puppy pile of betas congratulating him. John witnessed a blissfully happy alpha, gazing between his pack and the ring on his finger.

The Sheriff clapped him on the shoulder.

"Guess this means you can call me Dad. Welcome to the family, Derek."

* * *

A crash from down the hall brought him back to the present.

A crash that came from the Fellowship Hall.

Groom #2's eyes widened before he zipped out of the room like a light.

As he got up and ran in that direction, he heard voices from the room in question.

"Oh my God, Scott, Stiles, you two are idiots! What made you think that was a good idea?!"

"Erica, Stiles dared me!"

"No, I told you that you couldn't stack that many chairs on the table!"

"Dude, you so totally dared me!"

"Ok, maybe, but come on! I'm bored and tired of waiting! Whose idea was it that we had to wait until moonrise?"

"Uh…I think that was you. You wanted the tradition to be right for Derek."

"Oh, yeah… that's right."

When John finally got on the scene, he noticed Groom #2 pacing outside of the door. The groom turned red flashing eyes at the sheriff.

"I can't get in. Damn it Stiles, you used Mountain Ash?!"

A voice called from the other side of the door.

"I don't need wolfy powers to know what you are gonna do Sourwolf. You know I love you from the bottom of my heart, and you can probably sense how difficult it is for me to not rush into your massively hot arms, but with our lives we need all the luck we can get! We did not go through months of learning werewolf courting and mating customs, and months of learning Celtic folk dancing for us to lose it in the main stretch!"

Derek slid down the wall beside the door.

"I just…hate not being near you. It's driving me crazy, especially when you pull stunts like that."

There was a thump from the other side of the door.

"It's killing me too Derek, but we only have an hour or so to go. Then, Mr. Hale, you get to have me forever."

Despite himself, Derek smiled.

"God, I love you."

"I love you too."

Derek got off the ground and composed himself.

"I'll see you at the altar."

John could hear the smirk from the other side of the door.

"You bet I'll see your perfect ass down there. I'll be the one in the red bow tie."

Derek rolled his eyes, even as the blissful smile never left his face.

"I'm wearing a red bow tie too, dimwit."

"Oh good, we'll be a _**mated pair**_."

John rolled his eyes that time.

"My son, the comedian."

* * *

That night, a very proud John Stilinski watched as he officially gained another son. Life was good.

* * *

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